


Promise

by AvaCelt



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Drabble Collection, M/M, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They live morose lives underneath stars and suffering.</p><p>Based on a graphic by <a href="http://theoryofthevanquished.tumblr.com/post/56071171360/a-tribe-of-demons-morosely-watch-over-humans-to">Monoire</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Zitao. Zitao likes to float from place to place- taste the different spices the world has to offer. But even he knows- like his brethren- that there’s not enough beauty left in the world to care entirely. That is- until he meets Zhang Yixing.  
  
The figure playing beautifully in the corridor sits oblivious to the monsters outside. Zitao sighed.  
  
“… it’s very soothing. Why is it so soothing?” Luhan scratched his head. Zhang Yixing’s nimble fingers lovingly thrummed the keys, even though his expression was blank.   
  
“Because he’s blind,” Zitao whispered. “He knows beauty only by sound, so he cannot see the rotting fixtures surrounding him.”

“Do you think he’s as passive as we are?” Luhan asked.  
  
The blind man’s finger hit another key, and Tao smiled when the blind man did not as the piece came to its beautiful end. “Perhaps.”


	2. Promise

“They want us back.” Yixing huddled closer to the fire, lips trembling.

“But they won’t get us back.” Zitao sighed deeply, letting the warmth of the embers seep into his skin.

Fingers then wrapped around his collar and pulled him close. “They’ll find us,” he rasped. “They’ll find us and separate us. They always do that.” He croaked, beginnings of a sob forming in the back of his throat.

“No, they won’t.” He tore the grimy fingers off his collar and pulled the heaving figure into his arms. “They won’t find us,” he promised. He threaded a bony hand through frayed locks of brown hair. “I’ll hunt them before they hunt us.”

Something howled in the night. The leaves rustled and the red moon burned bright and deadly.

“Run,” Zitao whispered.

But the latter already turned and was barking furiously, his clothes strewn on the dirt and his mane dirty and torn in places. Zitao followed suit.

Another howl resounded in the wind. One of them whimpered. Neither knew who. Then a growl, and scampering. Screams. Screams of the innocent as they were chased. Frantic barks of Zitao and Yixing as they were chased as well.

Their former packmaster howled again.

And they ran.


	3. Stacatto

“It’s dark outside.”

“I noticed.” A laugh. A sweet, mesmerizing lilt of his voice.

“You should sing for me,” the taller figure muttered darkly.

His dimple appeared as he lit up. “I’d like that.”

“Will you… invite me in, then? My brothers would like to hear you sing as well. Is it OK if I bring them along?” The taller man bit his bottom lip in anticipation.

But the dimple-cheeked man never stopped smiling. “Of course.”

As the night wore on, Zhang Yixing sang songs- songs others wrote, songs that were written for him, and songs he himself slaved over. His friend, Huang Zitao, listened to every one of them. His brothers came and left early, but Zhang Yixing sang the entire night as Huang Zitao sat silently on a worn couch. Sweet notes- sweeter verses.

When he woke up, it was broad daylight and no traces of the lithe, young men were to be found. But on his pillow there lay a handkerchief. On the handkerchief, their lay a hand-stitched flower print. On the hand stitched flower print, there was his name- woven in between the branches of the pink and cream flowers. Zhang Yixing never saw them again, but when he thought he did, he always sang a verse or two.

But then again, Zhang Yixing disappeared one day- never to be found again, never to sing again for his audience at the town concert hall. The townsfolk guessed he was probably singing for better people- for more appreciative beings.

They were right.


	4. Blossom Blue

Gardens can become lonely places if one doesn’t know how to speak to the flowers. Or the grass. Or the sky above. Huang Zitao cannot speak at all, and his attempts at mentally communicating with the beauty around him ends in naught. But he goes anyway. The freshness of the roses, and the sweetness of the plum blossoms- that’s all he needs. Or so he thinks.

“Would you like me to walk with you?”

Zitao blinks at the man with the flawless skin and attire. Zitao addresses at himself. He looks like a tall stick in his baggy sweats. He looks at the man. He looks proper in his pressed shirt and snug pants.

But Zitao nods anyway. And as they walk, the man with magical dimple points at different flowers and recites their individual properties. One-by-one, others follow them, and Zitao is afraid and fascinated at the same time. By the time they get to the end of the garden path, the four other individuals stare intently at him and his new companion. Zitao cannot speak, so therefore he cannot express his dislike. But then the stranger asks him if he’d like to see more- more beauty beyond the fences of the community garden.

Zitao nods because he cannot speak. He nods as the stranger takes his frail hand and kisses his knuckles before leading him out of the garden with the four others in tow. Zitao doesn’t speak as he’s put into to a painful sleep. Zitao doesn’t speak as he wakes up to a different world with no pain at all. He doesn’t speak when pale hands and a brilliant smile, with a lovely dimple to accent it, take him to places he’s never imagined in ways he never thought possible.

Zitao doesn’t speak. But then again, he doesn’t have to. The stranger’s smile speaks to him. So in response, he smiles back.


	5. Red Sun

The sky is blood red. Almost as red as the tips of Yixing’s fingers.

“You took another one,” Luhan accused.

Yixing blinked. “Yes.”

“He would hate you if he were still alive,” he spat.

“But he’s not,” Yixing added thoughtfully. “He’s not alive, now is he?”

The drained young man- thin of figure and pretty of face -lay beautifully against the green grass. His crimson lifeline splattered beautifully against the pink and white flowers. The sky continued to darken- the sticky liquid felt warm against Yixing’s cold skin.

“This is his garden,” Luhan croaked. “Why would you ruin his garden?”

But Yixing shook his head. Shook his head and sucked on his red, red fingertips. He scrunched his nose. It didn’t taste like he did- like Zitao did.

But it would suffice. It always did.

“They’ll find him in the morning,” Yixing said. “I’d like to stargaze in the mean time. Would you like to join me?”

Luhan threw him a look that crossed pity over with pain. But he gave in. All his brothers did. They took a seat next to the body dressed marvelously against the green dew. Luhan stared up at the sky, red tears pooling in his eyes as the bloodiness of the clouds began to darken into the night sky.

“He would hate you,” he told him. They all told him.

“I know,” Yixing replied. “I know.”


End file.
